


Rosmarnius & Juniperus

by MayorMimi



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Brotherly Love, Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Intoxication, Jealousy, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Post-Canon, Protective Older Brother Piers, Protectiveness, Secrets, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayorMimi/pseuds/MayorMimi
Summary: After inheriting the Spikemuth Gym, Marnie knows she has a few issues to work through. What she doesn't know is that she's not too old to ask Piers for help.
Relationships: Mary | Marnie & Nezu | Piers (Pokemon)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 140





	Rosmarnius & Juniperus

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr:  
> mayormimii.tumblr.com

Marnie was certain the Spikemuth gym could be better. It wasn’t failing, which she had to give herself credit for, but that never kept her from laying awake at night and wondering how it compared to the seven others. 

There was a stretch of time during her gym challenge that Marnie spent on the cusp of forgetting Piers altogether had it not been for her brother’s Merry Men playing the Greek chorus throughout her journey. So, it wasn’t until he began gracing the front pages of newspapers or answering questions on talk shows that she’d find herself uncharacteristically staring at him, wondering what he thought of her now.

Marnie found it difficult not to feel like she existed in her brother’s shadow when his guttural voice and sultry lyrics had a way of haunting radio stations or cafés long after the release of any song. She once bumped into Hop at the reception of a gym and the two heard Piers’s latest hit overhead, which Hop pointed out had gone viral on Tiktok. He wasn’t one to speak with Marnie often, yet he felt the need to tell her this because he assumed every kid worshipped his or her older brother the way he did. Despite this, nobody had heard from his singing beyond live performances of entries from his last album, which he dropped a year ago.

“Talk to him,” Nessa advised her one evening over bowls of seaweed salad. Marnie gazed out the window and pantomimed wonder at the infrequent sight of the ocean. Speaking to the gym leaders as _one of them_ rather than another trainer was another change she was late to accustom herself to. The last habit Marnie managed to adopt was steady eye contact. “I’m sure he’ll be more than delighted to show you the way. Isn’t that what older siblings love to do best?”

For someone so level-headed, Marnie could tell Nessa was an only child. She picked at her food and searched for a polite answer, before resorting to a nod. “Aye, I s’ppose yer right.” There was a stiffness in her tone typical of youth addressing an elder they were only acquainted with. Marnie stopped talking when her accent grew painfully pronounced.

Nessa hummed along with the foot-tapping song overhead, bobbing her head to it before adding: “Catchy tune. The guy’s voice sounds familiar.” She nearly sang along before she caught herself. “Know the artist? It’s at the tip of my tongue.”

Marnie shook her head, although she knew well enough.

By the time a Corviknight brought Marnie home, night fell in Spikemuth. She wandered through dingy alleys reeking of booze and streets illuminated by neon signs, checking over her shoulder with her purse hugged to her chest the way Piers taught her to. Marnie recalled the way he used to accompany her through the city with his arm tight around her shoulders until she grew old enough to walk alone—which took an outburst at him to achieve. Though the habit seemed stifling at the time, a bit of Marnie found her truculence embarrassing and wished she had an escort whenever she found herself out alone, stumbling in the blue dark. Not that the girl would ever admit that after her effort to be seen as a woman rather than his baby sister.

“Ah’m home,” Marnie announced, kicking her heels onto the doormat and noticing they were the only pair of shoes to be seen at the door. The lights weren’t on, either. She shrugged her leather jacket off and peeled it from her arms to toss onto their tiny dinner table, which Marnie noted was bare of take-out meals. She strolled down the shadowy hall with no more than her phone’s glow to guide her. On the screen were her texts to Piers, the most recent message being her question: “Where are you?”

“Sorry. Will be late tonight.” His answer came moments later than Marnie was used to.

She nearly repeated her question, before supposing it didn’t matter since she never looked for him. Upon Marnie’s arrival at her bedroom, her eyes caught a heavily marked calendar. “By the way, I have a match tomorrow morning.” The remark came with the expectancy of his promise to be there, as nerve-wracking as that would’ve been. Perhaps it’d even encourage Piers to come home early and hit the hay so he wouldn’t miss it. Marnie waited—even-tempered on the surface level but inwardly feverish—for his reply.

Contrariwise, the message reached her brother without being read. She dropped her phone onto her vanity with a hint of disappointment.

The gym had been packed to the gunwales first thing in the morning. Trying to adopt the most intimidating stance she could manage, Marnie’s eyes scanned the crowd for her brother. She could only search through the half on her left before her opponent’s greeting brought her back to Earth. Marnie redirected her attention to the welcoming speech she would always give preceding a battle, forced to accept the cold reality that Piers wouldn’t be interested in watching some greenhorn flounder at what he spent years getting sick of. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she also supposed it wasn’t a wise idea to stay up practicing for a clash her brother wouldn’t be there to see.

Sometimes, the girl wondered why she ever bothered.

_Brussen Babe_ was the name of Piers’ new hit single soon after, which Marnie never actively listened to. She neither looked it up nor tuned into it when the countless department stores and elevators blared the song, uninterrupted for the past two weeks. The most Marnie had heard about it were remarks on how prideful he sounded singing. Marnie’s voice was meanwhile one she had trouble raising, particularly around her own co-workers, so she couldn’t help but envy his ability to serenade a myriad of strangers. The girl almost resented her older brother uncharacteristically, yet she continued to lie to herself, pretending Piers wasn’t on her mind more often than she’d like to admit and hoping to trick herself back into the same old: “My brother? Who?” of the previous year.

Perhaps that was why—as she stood before a small store and eyed the innumerable copies of the most recent edition of _NME—_ she couldn’t bring herself to just buy one _._ It contained an interview with him regarding his latest song released, and her biggest obstacle to purchasing it was the cover, which was adorned with a monochrome photo of him with a motorcycle jacket tossed nonchalantly over his shoulders and a handful of statement rings. They were the only fractions of his outfit she noticed before looking away; Piers’s penetrating gaze towards the reader, like the passion in his voice when he’d sing, overwhelmed Marnie in ways she couldn’t explain.

“ _‘Ey, up_!” Cried a voice so shrill it was unmistakable. Marnie looked up from her heels on the pavement and took in the sight of the only person she didn’t bother hiding her envy towards, only because what little envy she actually possessed quickly died away, and a ghost of it lingered only through inside jokes about her original goal to become the champion. The current true champion stood before her in the flesh, nodding with a grin. “Long time, eh? Where d’ya keep yourself?”

“Mm.”

The two stole a glance at the magazine simultaneously, before looking back at each other. “Oh, I’ve been jammin’ to that new song, by the way. Tell your brother I’m a fan. _Rolling Stones_ who, yeah?” Marnie’s old friend broke into hearty laughter at the thought of anybody surpassing _The Rolling Stones_. “Jokes aside, though, everyone’s been wigging out over it. Best part is: I’m not sick of it yet!”

“Hm.”

“Had no idea he could play the saxophone. Or that he’s got a girlfriend. Any idea who it is?”

“Hm?” Marnie’s eyes flickered like she’d taken a blow.

She folded her arms high enough for the collar of her jacket to brush her jaw. Her ex-rival looked around as if the walls had ears or there were listeners under the bricks of the pavement, before leaning closer to whisper, “...Listen, you know me. I never buy into rumors. But it’s clear the song didn’t materialize on its own--he must be seeing someone.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding, of course!”

“Ah.” Marnie breathed out, though she couldn’t tell if it was out of disappointment or the precise opposite.

The champion went on, nodding at the store window, “Everyone knows the answer to that after his interview with _NME_ , amiright?”

“Oh, um.” She nodded, becoming the receptor of pats on the arm and more laughter. Marnie wondered if Piers truly had a lady friend and whether she’d been the one keeping him out late at night all this time. When their conversation was reduced to Marnie fussing with her hair, she made an attempt to conclude it: “Speakin’ of Piers, I’ve some errands to run for ‘im, so...”

“Don’t worry, I know how it is. I’m here to stock up on some stuff myself, so I’ll catch you later? Over tea?”

“Right.” The two exchanged their farewells before Marnie watched her companion turn into a speck on the city horizon. Then, she considered the shop window one last time before entering the store.

A tinkling bell overhead welcomed her, along with the greeting of the cashier and an Ekans coiled on the counter. Marnie lifted a basket from the stack and extracted the shopping list she found on the dining table that morning, which was the only evidence of Piers being home the previous night. Wondering where he could’ve gone off to yet again, Marnie absently deposited a canister of oatmeal and five tins of breakfast tea into her basket. In addition to those came two boxes of oatcakes, four boxes of shortbread, and “a handful”--according to the shopping list—of her brother’s favorite Mars bars. Her hand was nowhere near the size of his, so she poured in two handfuls for good measure.

Placing the basket before the cashier, Marnie tapped her heel while scanning the weeklies on display. “That’ll be ₽8,800,” muttered the cashier, before spotting a copy of _NME_ resting on the surface before him. “Ninth customer today,” he remarked, half to himself and half to her. “Fan of the lad?”

“It’s for a...friend.”

Marnie stood outside the store with the grocery bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. Clumsily, she rifled through the magazine and until she landed on a blurry image of Piers. He looked towards someone not visible in the photo with a feather boa hooked around his arms and was caught in the middle of a chuckle that bared his sharp teeth. If her memory was to be trusted, Marnie hadn’t seen him laugh recently. The photo was nearly as colorless as the one on the cover, and even the light leaking in to cast itself across his face was a muted honey. It gave her the impression of a quiet self-assurance, maybe even the pride everyone was talking about.

The page itself presented its questions to the reader in bold print. Piers’s answers had been typed out rather in a rather small font in comparison. Some of the queries included personal questions, such as: “How have you found Spikemuth’s style is perceived in Galar? How much of your hometown has impacted your work? What can we expect to see from you next?” She continued scrutinizing the next couple of pages, only to find it was a rather brief interview.

The article was punctuated with a question Marnie had been promised would be answered. “Finally, I’m sure you’re well aware your fans have been dying to know who you had in mind while writing _Brussen Babe_. An old flame, perhaps?”

“‘ _Old flame’_ isn’t what I’d call it,” was the beginning of Piers’s answer. The sinking feeling in Marnie’s stomach as she read grew so nauseating, she rolled the book up and tucked it back into her bag. Perhaps having tea with the champion instead didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Marnie found herself back home by half-past seven, and couldn’t believe who she spotted at the dinner table picking at a bowl of stovies. Piers sipped from a beer bottle in his hand—pale ale, Marnie noted—before gesturing at her with it. “Where’ve you been?”

“Out with a friend.” She unloaded the food onto the kitchen counter while her Morpeko—who had waited for her return—hopped onto the cold surface the food rested on and placed a paw on the bag as if it would be glad to help if it could. “Put these away ‘n the cupboard, love. No eating.” Marnie handed Morpeko the Mars bars before it scurried off, nearly knocking Piers’s idea journal off the counter, then she hooked her jacket onto the coat hanger.

Even when they didn’t speak, Piers kept an eye on her. It was a habit he had of continuing to stare long after a conversation died out as if he expected to see a difference between Marnie’s words and her behavior. Or perhaps he was waiting for her to continue speaking. Whatever it was, Marnie only knew that it was unnerving. He finally asked: “What’s that in the bag?”

“The oatmeal?” She joined him at the dinner table. “Ah’ll put it away late—”

“Th’ rolled-up magazine.”

“Um, this month’s edition of _Vogue_. Nothing you’d be interested in.” Marnie turned to address Morpeko, who hadn’t seen enough magazines around their home to know where to place hers. Before Morpeko pulled it out, Marnie interjected: “My room, love. Leave that in my room.”

“Oh. For a second, I thought…”

“You thought?”

“Never mind.” He took another sip of his ale.

Marnie tugged on the pair of socks slipping from her knees, unsure of what to say after not speaking with him for so long. “Had supper already?”

“Aye, and you?”

“Not hungry.” It was difficult to eat when one felt a bit antsy.

Piers scraped the remaining chunks of stovies from the bowl, then downed them with the last bit of beer. Marnie could tell from his flushed neck and collar bones he hadn’t had enough to eat with his drink, but Piers otherwise seemed to handle his alcohol well. With white elbows rested against the table, he tilted the empty bottle towards Marnie as if to point at her. “Heard my song yet, by the way?”

“New one?” The tone in his question matched the subtle invitation she sent him to her match a fortnight ago, which he failed to show up to. Marnie still felt a little sore about it, so giving him a taste of his own medicine seemed a little too tempting. “Nah.”

“Hm.” Piers withdrew, dropping his hands to his lap. Breathing slowly, he pushed himself from the table and stumbled towards the kitchen. Marnie turned to rest her elbow on the head of the chair, watching Piers dump the bowl into the sink and the glass bottle into the rubbish bin. He unhooked a racer jacket from the coat hanger and lifted his black journal from the counter and shoved the keys into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Where’re you off to this time?” There was an accusatory tone in ‘ _this time_ ’ that flew over his head.

Piers swung the door open, receiving an icy wave of wind to his face. In a thick and metallic voice, he answered, “Th’ park.”

“On a date?” She wondered silently. Before Marnie could voice anything, the door closed and her brother vanished. Silence hung thick in the air, broken by a chair scraping against the wood when Marnie stood and whistled to summon her Morpeko. By the time Morpeko appeared from her bedroom door and scurried down the hall, the two met in the kitchen.

Marnie opened the snack cupboard, tore open two packs of Mars bars, and split them with her partner. “Shouldn't have bought him so many,” she grumbled through her chewing. Marnie swiped another bar before sliding through the kitchen and down the hall in her socks. Then she watched Morpeko curl up into a ball and roll towards her.

Conveniently laying on her bed was the crumpled convenience store bag from which she extracted the magazine. With her stomach against the mattress and her legs kicking nonchalantly, Marnie sifted through the pages again. She focused on other articles this time. “’ey, Roxie announced a new album,” Marnie remarked aloud to her Morpeko, which cocked its head at the sudden mention of an artist she never listened to as far as it could remember. “And Lisia’s goin’ on tour, and…” Her voice died indifferently.

Every now and again, Marnie would flip back to the cover as her mind drifted towards speculations on what sort of woman Piers’s sweetheart was like. The cultured, sophisticated type? Proficient in training Pokemon, perhaps? Everything Marnie was, but better? The girl shook her head as if to quell juvenile preoccupations with little meaning.

Still, Marnie couldn’t dispel the image she conjured in her mind of the woman, like a she-wolf—preying on her unwitting brother. “...Bloomin’ ’eck, what if she _is_ a man-eater?” gasped Marnie, who then looked at her Morpeko; its fur had bristled in reaction to her sudden exclamation. “Nah, not Lisia,” she elaborated pointlessly, before rising to her feet.

When Morpeko was about to follow her out the hallway, Marnie turned to block its path. “You stay here, love, I’m...checking on my brother.” She continued down the hall, going on: “Men wouldn’t know a hussy if one hit them between the eyes!”

Nights in Spikemuth were usually balmier than the surrounding cities, but tonight, Marnie could watch her breath form clouds in the icy air around her. She rubbed her bare arms while navigating her way through the labyrinths of the city. “My jacket...I knew I forgot something.” Beyond warmth, which a thin lace dress wouldn’t yield much of, Marnie’s jacket also provided the phone sitting in its interior pocket. She could’ve used the flashlight in that narrow alleyway, but there was no turning back after her long walk. Marnie was old enough to manage on her own, she thought.

That asides, a sensation had been creeping up on her for some time, of eyes drilling holes into the back of her neck. Marnie couldn’t tell how close or how far, but it felt almost unmistakable as if somebody was watching her. When she felt ready to brush her suspicion off as paranoia, a clammy hand seized Marnie’s upper arm, producing an irate shriek from her as she whipped around and kicked the shadowy fiend in the shin. She accompanied this with a hard slap to slip her arm out of the silhouette’s grip with a sense of triumph. Crouched before her, exposed under the moonlight and wine purple neon signs, was her older brother rubbing his lower leg with one hand.

On his other hand rested a cardboard tray bearing two lidded take-out cups. “Bloody ‘ell,” he grunted, “nice to see you know how to protect yourself. But, blimey, I nearly dropped our drinks. Better to find you here while your hot coco’s still warm than to balance this all the way home, I s’ppose.”

“What’re _you_ doing here?”

“That’s what I oughta be askin’ you.” Piers stood, balancing the tray as he extracted one cup and thumbed the lid off. The drink breathed the aroma of brewed coffee into the air. “ _Three_ missed calls. What gives?”

“I don’t have my phone with me. Now, answer my question: weren’t you supposed to be at the park?”

“Got sidetracked.” He bobbed the cup in his hand for emphasis. “Wasn’t too far from here when I did, so I thought I’d drop a drink off before I’d go for real.”

“Shouldn’t you be a little more punctual on a date?”

“A date? Who said anything about a date?”

“Ah, she stood you up.”

“No. What’re you talking about?”

“Then what’re you slinking off to the park for?” She maintained a flat face and accusatory tone yet again as he unzipped his riding jacket and tossed it around Marnie’s arms. Piers’s scent of musk rubbed off on her shoulders. “It’s all street pharmacists at night, and I don’t mean the Nurse Joy kind.”

“Inspiration.” After a dirty look from her, he assured: “No, I’m not doing any business with these _street pharmacists_ , and I’m insulted you’d even think that. I’m looking for literal inspiration; last song was a flop, I gotta churn out the next as soon as possible,” he grumbled, much to her bewilderment. “Wanna join?”

Much to Marnie’s relief, more Pokémon could be found in that otherwise deserted park than people. They were Pidgeys dozing off in trees and Caterpies curling up with Weedles. The only Pokemon up at this hour would be the occasional Ratatta scurrying past the pair. “...Okay, but hot chocolate?” Marnie had her knees hugged to the paper cup against her chest while her heels settled on the bench. “You can't be serious.”

“What can I say?” Piers shrugged, shifting the arm draped behind Marnie. “No caffeine on battle nights, lassie.”

“How d’you know I have a battle tomorrow? You keep track of my gym matches?”

“What sort of older brother would I be not to?”

“Then, that time I told you I had one a couple of weeks ago--”

“Knew about it way ahead of you, yes.”

“So why didn’t you show up?”

“Call me crazy, but…” He furrowed his brows. “I’m pretty sure I remember sitting in the front row, to your right.” Marnie slapped a hand to her forehead upon hearing this. “What? Did I have to coat my face in hot pink and blow a horn for you to notice me?”

“Please, you already subjected me to that last year.” Her eyes rolled as she tossed her head back slightly for emphasis. “Just when I thought leaving home would get you off my back.”

“Haven’t I been off your back, lately?”

“That’s the problem.”

“I don’t follow.” Piers punctuated this with a long sip from his coffee.

Marnie’s nose wrinkled. “What happened to ‘ _no caffeine before bed_ ’? How’re you gonna sleep at this rate?”

“I don’t need to sleep, I need to write.” He cocked his head towards the journal sitting by him. “And don’t dodge my questio—”

“Write what? Another song for the girl?” Crumpling the empty cup in her hand, she stressed on _‘another’_. “She didn’t like the last one well enough?”

“Apparently not.” Piers watched Marnie toss the cup into an adjacent rubbish bin through his half-lidded eyes. “She didn’t even listen to it.”

“Ouch!” Marnie turned back towards her brother. “Talk about a jerk. What do you even see in her?” He only stared at her in response, taking a long and audible sip from his coffee. “...Um, you wouldn’t ’appen to be talking about me, would ya?”

“ _You wouldn’t ’appen to be talking about me, would ya_?” He mocked in a high, effeminate voice. “Aye, ya little arse, the song’s about you.”

“So…” She propped her hands against the bench and leaned towards him. “You’re not seeing anyone?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Marnie’s eyes rolled down, away from his. Piers arched a brow, triggering her to shift away from him. “Maybe…?”

“Now, here’s a thought—and it might just be me—but it sounds to me like you’re suffering from jealousy.” He laughed, searching Marnie’s face for any sign of amusement. His grin fell when all Piers found was a hard mouth and a solemn expression. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Bringing her hands to her lap and crushing the blush-colored fabric between her black nails, Marnie didn’t reply. But the hue of her face changing into the same shade as her dress seemed like a sufficient answer and brought out a smirk from Piers. “I guess I—” She faltered, “I realized I wasn’t ready to grow up and stop leaning on you yet. But it felt like you were moving on from gym battles to your music so fast and moving on to other girls before you’d abandon me. I…I’m sorry for acting like such a kid.”

“Wow. I should’ve recorded this, I never thought I’d hear you say you need me.” Marnie stiffened and glared at her brother, nudging him. “It’s been—what—over half a decade since you last said that? Scratch that, I’m pretty sure it’s been a decade.” He calculated the years on his fingers as he spoke.

Marnie prodded his thigh with her knee. “I’m being serious, you jerk!” Piers dropped his hands to return his attention to her, and she took that as her cue to go on. “Jeez, I was so sure I would become the champion and I didn’t. Next, I was sure I’d at least make a good gym leader, but look at me now...”

A few moments rolled by of tension and awkward silence. 

“...Hey, d’you know when my idea for _Brussen Babe_ hit me? Or rather, where?” Marnie shook her head, a little hurt he was so quick to change the subject. “I was having the writer’s block of my life until I sat for that gym battle of yours. That was when these—these ideas,” Piers faltered, narrowing his eyes in his effort to articulate. “They hit me like a hurricane. You crushed it out there and left me in awe.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better.”

“Think I’m stroking your ego? I’m your brother, my job’s knocking you down before you get too big-headed.” He ruffled her hair, earning a pout from her. “Still, only an arse would deny a good battle when he’s seen one. You put me in my place as a trainer.”

“I guess there wasn’t any reason for me to be so brussen, eh?” She patted her hair down. 

Licking the coffee off his upper lip and crushing the cup in a hand, Piers hummed meditatively. “...Well, it can’t be helped. You’ve always been brussen. Since you were a babe in my arms, only this big—” he stretched out and held the side of his hand to his forearm to indicate half a foot—“to this day. You never learned to chill out.”

"Guess not," she confessed.

Piers hooked an arm around Marnie’s shoulders to pull her closer. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“Never change, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Brussen Babe  
> /ˈbrʌsən beɪb/  
> A stubborn child.


End file.
